Fanfare (33 page)

He couldn’t be further from the truth. “He’s not. He was . . . folding cranes.”

“Are you tripping on LSD?” Ryan teased.

“No. Can you refrain from being sarcastic for just a little while?”

“Okay, I’ll play. Why was he folding cranes?” he asked with abrupt seriousness.

Suddenly, I didn’t know why I had come here. Something strange had prompted me to drive my car in this direction and run to his front door. I knew I must have some kind of hidden purpose, even though I wasn’t certain what it could be.

I sighed as the adrenaline began to pound with less intensity through my veins.

“Cris? The cranes?”

“She’s probably not going to make it.”

“Where was her family?” he asked.

“Working. She didn’t have health insurance, and they’re nearly bankrupt because of her medical bills.”

“So why wasn’t the fiancé out working as well?” he demanded.

My jaw snapped shut at this inquiry. I had not even thought about it. “I don’t know. He was folding cranes by her bedside.”

“You mentioned this. Why?” His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

“Because . . . he . . . he read somewhere that if you fold a thousand cranes, your dearest wish will come true. He had already folded nearly seven hundred when I arrived. They were hanging like streamers all around her bed.”

He pursed his lips together. “This guy sounds like a flake.”

I was utterly confused by this reaction. I had found Greg’s gesture to be so . . . inexplicably beautiful. “How do you figure?”

“His fiancée is lying on a hospital bed dying of cancer. Her family is working overtime to cover her medical bills. Instead of trying to organize a fundraiser or find a doctor who specializes in some sort of experimental treatment that might save her life, he’s sitting there doing an arts and crafts project? Why doesn’t he get a job and help in a constructive manner?”

My confusion only grew. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Apparently, neither has Greg,” he pronounced with a trace amount of disgust.

“She loves the cranes. He told me they . . . they make her happy.”

“He should work on saving her life first. Then he can worry about making her happy,” Ryan stated bluntly.

My confusion was replaced with frustrated anger. “You’re . . . you don’t see anything beautiful about this?”

He shrugged dismissively. “There’s nothing beautiful about waste. He’s wasting his time, and he’s wasting her chances.”

“No! It-it’s beautiful, Ryan. He sits with her all the time, and he makes her happy. When she’s happy, he’s happy. As long as they’re with each other . . . doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Maybe. All I’m saying is that he’s going to feel less than happy when he folds his thousandth crane and his girl is still dying in front of him.” Ryan was merciless in his appraisal.

And yet, I knew that he was . . . right. In a sad, twisted way, Ryan’s dispassionate analysis had a ring of truth to it. There might be many more constructive things Greg could be doing with his time. Yet, everything Ryan suggested ignored the beauty of Greg’s gesture. His undying devotion. His unwavering love. His quest for happiness.

What was I doing here? I stared at Ryan after he made his last coldhearted pronouncement . . .

. . . and I realized something.

“You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?” he replied.

“You don’t understand what he’s trying to do, so you’re ruining it by making it sound ridiculous.”

“Now, you’re being ridiculous,” he scoffed as he leaned back into his chair.

“No, I’m not. I just figured it out. I get it. You don’t. You can’t stand that.”

“Tell yourself that if it makes you feel better. I just feel bad for this girl,” he remarked.

“I don’t. I actually envy her,” I said firmly.

“You sure you’re not on drugs?”

“I envy her because she’s happy. Even if it’s just for one ridiculous moment a day when she sees hundreds of tiny cranes swaying around her, she’s happy! He makes her happy!” I cried as I jumped off the sofa.

My rapid movement startled him from his posture of wizened judgment. Suddenly, he looked almost like a small boy afraid of the impending dark. As I stared down at him, I realized why I was supposed to be here. What I needed to do.

“They deserve to be happy. I deserve to be happy.”

Don’t think. Just do.

I reached into my purse and pulled out the little velvet bag with the ring. “I’m sorry, but I will never believe in us again, because there’s nothing left to believe in.”

“Cristina,” he choked in shock as I put the bag on the coffee table. “I don’t . . . don’t do this. Why?”

“You’re not the person I fell in love with. I will never be the person you want me to be,” I whispered.

I could feel the invisible manacles drop from my arms. Free of their weight, I threw my shoulders back and lifted my chin.

“But I love you,” he said in a tight voice.

“It’s not enough. I’m so sorry.”

I turned on my heel and walked towards the front door. As I passed by the light bulbs on the ground, I reached down and picked one up.

My heart pounded, and my hands trembled, but I refused to leave him in darkness as he did to me.

Standing on my tiptoes, I screwed the bulb into the wall sconce.

“Goodbye, Ryan,” I breathed. I went to the door and flipped the light switch on behind me before pulling the handle shut.

The spring air smelled fresh, and the sun lying low on the horizon stretched its rays towards me with an embrace I had ignored far too long. Blissful ignorance always pales next to the electricity of awareness.

I yanked my phone out of my purse.

“Hello?”

“Hana? Can you help me find Tom?” I ran towards my car as I spoke.

My tires squealed as they hit the asphalt.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“I’m conferencing in Gita!” Hana shouted to me as I slammed the accelerator of my little Civic to the floor. It roared in protest, but I didn’t care.

A few moments later, both of my best friends were positioned in front of their computers waiting for my directives.

“Where the hell do I even look?” Gita wailed.

“Try Twitter. Try fansites. Do a general Google search!” I replied.

“Can’t you just call him?” Hana yelled with exasperation.

“I tried just now while you were calling Gita. The number I have doesn’t work. It’s out of service,” I admitted.

“I knew it! I knew you were going to cave in!” Hana crowed.

“Focus! Okay, so I just did a Google search. Holy shit . . . there are fifteen million results!” Gita moaned.

“I’m looking at Twitter for links to fansites,” Hana responded.

“Where are you?” Gita demanded.

“I’m on I-40 heading to the airport,” I said.

“Do you even have your passport?” she demanded.

“I didn’t get that far in my thought process. Hopefully, he’s in the continental United States,” I replied sheepishly.

“Hey! This site says he’s attending a movie premiere in Chelsea tonight!” Hana cried.

“Can you guys try to verify that?” I pleaded.

“Shit, this one says he’s in L.A.!” Gita stated with irritation.

“But I’ve already found two websites that say he’s in New York!” Hana protested.

“Does he even have a Twitter thing? I ask because I’ve found no less than ten people claiming to be him, but they all have grammar skills Forrest Gump would openly mock,” Gita said. “Two of them are clearly teenage girls.”

“I don’t think he has Twitter. At least, he didn’t two months ago.”

“Wait, wait, wait! This site says he’s supposed to be at the Clearview Chelsea Cinemas on 23rd Street! The red carpet starts at nine thirty!” Gita yelled triumphantly.

“That’s good enough for me!” I shouted back as I pushed the speedometer over eighty.

They both hollered in support, and I felt my heart soar with affection for them.

“Cristina, I’m so glad you’re doing this,” Gita said when the fervor died down.

“And I thought you were my sensible friend!” I teased. “Lately, your penchant for romanticism has shocked me to no end! I’m rather disappointed. I never thought you would be such a sucker for love.”

“Piss off.” She chuckled.

“There’s a Delta flight leaving from RDU to LaGuardia in thirty-five minutes. How far are you from RDU?” Hana demanded.

“I’m ten minutes away,” I replied.

“That’s cutting it kind of close, Hana,” Gita pointed out.

“Look, if she misses the six fifty flight, the next one leaves at eight thirty! She’ll never make the premiere!” Hana exclaimed.

“I’ll be on that plane,” I vowed. Please, let me make it.

“I’m buying your ticket right now,” Hana said with conviction.

I remained silent for a moment so I could reestablish control over my emotions. “Thank you so much. I love you both.”

“Call us as soon as you get there! I’ll book you a hotel room at the Marriott in Times Square! We have some points, and it’s not too far from Chelsea!” Hana replied.

“Hopefully, she won’t need a hotel room!” Gita teased.

“We love you too! Don’t worry! It’ll work out!” Hana called back.

“I’m not worried. Even if he doesn’t want me, I have to do this. For me. I have to know that I fought for my happiness,” I said firmly.

Even though it would cost me twenty dollars a day, I parked my car in the lot closest to the Delta terminal and ran pell-mell towards the electronic kiosk to print out my boarding pass.

Gasping for air, I raced down the corridor so I could get to the gate before the door closed and no one else was admitted onto the flight. I made it with moments to spare.

My mind whirred at a frenetic pace, and the short flight passed by in the blink of an eye. The only thing I could think about was getting close enough to Tom for him to see me. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed my presence would be welcome, even if I did not deserve such a magnanimous gesture. I bounced my knee up and down as we sat on the tarmac for twenty grueling minutes before we were able to gain access to a gate and deplane.

Again, I flew through the airport and grabbed the first taxi I reached. It was nearing nine o’clock.

“Clearview Chelsea Cinemas on 23rd!” I shouted to the cabbie. “Twenty bucks extra if you move it!”

Never tell a New York City cab driver to move it. The flashing lights of the city blurred by as he jerked through traffic and fit through spaces I was certain were way too small for an automobile. Each time, my fears were proven wrong.

Bless him.

“I can’t get through,” he complained in accented English as we neared the theater complex. “The traffic is terrible. Do you want me to go around?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll walk.” Correction: run. I shoved a handful of money towards him and murmured thanks as I lifted my sweaty, nerve-ridden self from the cab.

The cool April breeze blew around me, and the sticky strands of my hair curled in unbecoming whirls that framed my face like a Puerto Rican version of Shirley Temple. Nice. Oh well.

As I neared the theater, I faltered as I truly realized what I was up against. The large crowd milling by the entrance had obviously been there for quite a while, and the press contingency occupied the best location by the red carpet. This was a nightmare.

I gritted my teeth together and forced away my insecurities and hesitation. It didn’t matter if I looked like shit. It didn’t matter if it would take an act of God to put me in Tom’s line of sight. It didn’t matter if the fans tried to elbow me out of the way. The only thing that mattered was happiness. And I would fight for it, even if I had to claw my way through the crowd inch by inch.

“Excuse me,” I began chanting as I tried to make it towards the front.

A collective scream rippled through the masses as the first of the celebrities proceeded onto the red carpet. The familiar bulbs flashed, and the questions flew through the air as people struggled to get the attention of their beloved stars. In the melee, I was able to press my way forward without drawing any ire from those around me. Another volley of shouts arose. I glanced towards the carpet and squinted. It was not Tom.

Each time the mob made an outcry, I looked up from my single-minded task to glance before me. A tall man who walked with a slightly awkward gait was the only thing my eyes sought. The process was excruciatingly slow. For every five steps I made forward, I was pushed back two.

And then . . .

“IT’S THOMAS!” screamed a girl less than fifteen feet in front of me.

I froze. The horde’s uproar grew to reflect the magnitude of his arrival. My gaze zeroed in on the figure less than fifty feet to my left.

“Please,” I begged under my breath as I moved forward with renewed zeal. I glanced towards him whenever the opportunity arose.

He was dressed in a charcoal grey suit, and his olive green button down was slightly wrinkled with the careless, devil-may-care style that was all his own. He wore polarized sunglasses, and when his right hand raked through his hair in an achingly familiar gesture, it took every ounce of my self-control not to scream for his attention at the top of my lungs.

He would never hear me anyway.

“Please!” I cried.

I pushed through the crowd and was jostled roughly by ever more fervent fans the closer I came to the front.

“Hey! I was here all afternoon!” a girl to my right yelled indignantly at me when I tried to elbow past her.

“I’m sorry! Please, I just need to see him,” I stated with such desperation in my eyes that she decided to cut me a break.

“Jeez, and I thought I was nuts,” she muttered.

He was less than fifteen feet away from me. My path would cross into his direct line of sight in mere seconds.

“Tom!” I reached out my hand towards him as though my palm would suddenly extend itself and grasp onto his. I knew I would never make it the last ten feet in time. There were countless bodies pressed tightly against one another, blocking my ability to move.

“Tom!” I yelled more loudly as I was buffeted against the people in my immediate vicinity.

“Thomas!” a girl nearby screeched.

A chorus of his name rose around me, and I knew it wasn’t humanly possible for any person to pick out my voice from the rising din.